The Morning
by Acromania
Summary: ONESHOT. [Seventh part in The Office series] He is out of his mind, miles ahead and she is still asleep. AU. SMUT. Don't like, don't read. Rated M for a reason, folks. Eris


_A/N: Surprise! Now, this oneshot is again written in Eric's POV and I hope you enjoy his struggle, thoughts and the details I added. I am not sure if it is a worthy continuation, you have to tell me._

_**Important:** This oneshot is dedicated to Torry-Riddle because I want to congratulate her to her birthday (belatedly) and want to say sorry because I hadn't the time to talk as much. Hope you enjoy it, hun!_

_Note: This is the seventh part in a series called The Office. Read the other parts in the following order (you can find them on my profile): **The Office**, **The Car**, **The Shower**, **The Kitchen**, **The Phone **and** The Loft**._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Veronica Roth does._

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**The Morning**

I am awoken by the bright light of the sun, something strange for a day in the middle of December, falling into her big windows of her loft. There is no need for me to orientate, to become aware why I am not in Seattle, not in a though luxurious but impersonal hotel room or even in my own bed. I know where I am. I know that in the next few hours everything and nothing can change for me. I know that with my decision when I was on edge and tired come consequences I don't think I am ready to face but will nonetheless because I am not a quitter and believe me to be a man of honour mostly.

Some part of me is aware though. Is aware that in the light of the day my actions from yesterday feel overboard, wrong in so many aspects. The comfortable ground I found sitting in my car slowly leaves me, makes me feel on edge again, my mind though I am not ready yet forcing me to think things through before she wakes up, before I have to face these consequences. Gritting my teeth I need my whole strength to not leave her presence in a rush; shame, anger and frustration clouding my mind because of the notion for a moment, letting my muscles tense. Even if I wouldn't be the man I am – aware, distant and clinically observant – I would realize that I am in flight mode again, feeling the looming danger, just like I was yesterday while still on my way to her loft. I hate that I have to fight myself to not be a coward when it comes to situations like this when emotions get involved I was sure I would never experience.

I try to remind myself of my decision. I decided to not let her go. I decided to keep her around to become a better man. I decided to become the man I should already be. I decided to accept the emotions she awakes within me even though I know they aren't enough to deserve her attention and feelings in response. I decided that I will look at this situation positively, will see the restraints I feel as obstacles I can and will overcome. I tell myself that I already accepted her as my equal, reason with myself that she is good for me. But my contemplations and arguments, my reminder and true words meet hard walls in my mind. And I feel myself failing, putting me on edge even more.

It doesn't work, the clearity I experienced a few hours ago now leaving me. If I had to guess why I would point my finger at my overactive, analytical mind that isn't bothered anymore with missing her body, her reactions, her scent and most importantly her mind but is fully aware, the urge sated for the time being, concentrated and well rested after sleeping next to her again.

I look out of the window, heaviness in my chest, uncomfortable tense feeling in my muscles, seriousness settling in my bones but I know I can't go. I concentrate on my breathing to stop a violent reaction, to stop myself from acting too fast this time and focus on thinking things through without the pressure of being away from her, without the pressure of my needs and the edge to be with her at the forefront of my mind.

I feel her breathing in front of me, feel the movement of her chest against my arm laying over her torso. I am not a liar and can easily say – at least in my mind – that her sleeping form next to me gives me enough reason to not bolt out of the room, that she grounds me. My eyes focus on my sweet, sleeping secretary, lips slightly parted, a bit dry but rosy, features mostly calm and relaxed. Her hair is strangly orange against the green covers of her sheets and pillow, the sunbeams captured in the darkblond.

The sight has something mystical about it, like she is some unearthy being I got caught up in right from the beginning. I know it is just my mind coming up with images and far fetched comparisons, but I feel like Homer's Odysseus in a twisted kind of way. My body's reaction feels like I am traveling home from a war, my muscles tense and neck painful and I realise that I am the man on the ship hearing her singing and giving in to the begging of the siren she is. A small part of me hopes she is not only that but the wife I really want to go home to as well, appearing in a different form to distract me or maybe make me aware what I really want. I scowl for a moment because no matter how silly that thought is, it has merrit. She is my high and my downfall, the sin and the absolution.

Averting my eyes from her features that are too much to take in I watch her breasts move with her breathing, transfixed that a body like hers doesn't burst with that mind of hers, that heart of hers that she stupidly enough filled with emotions for me. And I know she is stupid because even though I already thought I was at a point where I could give her the everything she deserves, I am not. Because I am not Odysseus, sure that the love for a woman would lead him home. I am not a hero. Not in my mind and not objectivly seen.

Seriously I believe I don't need to be. Not for her because something tells me she doesn't look for a knight in shining armor or someone to save her. She looks for devotion, deep and pure, for love, for loyality, for honesty, for reality with edges and hard times, with passion and kisses in the rain. But I can't be that either, not all of this and not to her and my satisfaction. But it seems I am enough for her anyway, her reactions, the things I saw in her eyes and actions telling me as much. I don't think she is naive enough to entertain thoughts about a happily ever after with me. She isn't blind and I discovered that much just a few hours ago. With the memory comes back my own behavior, my musings are at the forefront of my mind, the slight distraction not stoping but fueling the contradiction I feel. My thoughts start to circle, let me see things differently and not at all. Giving in I allow myself to think to hopefully come to the same decisions again that leave me right now.

I am caught up in the moments when I still sat in my car, tired to the bone but with an urge to be here, next to her. My whole mind was filled with her, not only images of her delicious body reacting to mine but also all the other things I discovered through working with her for the last two years, the things she let me see consciously and unconsciously, the things she taught me about myself even.

I know that some part of me entertained the thought that this urge to be with her will be gone as soon as I am in Chicago again, saw her after I left her the way I did on my porch. But I am honest with myself mostly, more so now and know that the urge isn't gone. It purrs softly in contentment because she is next to me and I realize it is just not as demanding anymore, will probably be back as soon as I go. Snorting softly, I think I was an idiot to even believe in forgetting her for a second and this realisation keeps me rooted to my spot next to her even more, her petite, perfect, pale body pressed against my chest. My still sleep induced mind has no control over my unconscious decisions, though. And with the memory of my drive to her loft come back my musings and I know it is a useless thought but my independence and fear again contemplate just leaving her, letting her sleep and forgetting her myself. As if this is still possible, I tell both of them in frustration and again, feeling pain.

I remember my secretary's words from the night, her short moment of insecurity and maybe even hurt. I know I am the one to inflict the pain, that I am responsible. It makes my heart constrict and aware that I am a selfish bastard for coming back. An idea enters my mind then that wasn't there the night before. When I told myself – sitting in my car, contemplating to turn around and drive home – to be not a coward but the man I am: strong and full of purpose, in tune with what I want and doing everything to get it even hurting others and not batting an eye at it because I just didn't care.

I never questioned my decisions, me as a person or my treatment of the women I encountered, my own needs the only thing I really cared about. But this time my need tells me to leave, not because I want to but because it would be the better decision for her and that great and beautiful heart of hers. I care about it now, my effect because I know that I am not up to her standard, that I am imperfect in comparison to her. I know what I lack, that I am not the man I probably should be, maybe even want to be. I gritt my teeth, angry, confused but also honest with myself. Its both strange and freeing to discover that I can be this way.

I realize that maybe it wouldn't have been the coward's decision to leave but the better one, not letting her feel the pain, not letting her feel used because in some way I do. This time I don't feel indifferent about it, about the effect my behavior has and I am angry with myself. I visited her aware what she wants, maybe hopes for. I came back to her even though I know I can't give her the things she quite frankly deserves being the perfect person she is – and I was stupid and naive to think I could bring myself to be more.

My eyes fixed on Tris' sleeping form I can picture myself driving up to my house quite easily, forgetting about my honour, my honesty, my integrity as a man and human. It will make no difference though because apart from lying to myself, destroying the construct I built to be the man I am, my morals and believes, it will only help in driving me up the wall because the place is contaminated now. My own house, my heaven cold at the moment because I shut down the heating system before I went away – left her alone on my porch – and laced with pictures of her in my rooms – the shower, the kitchen, my bed, my couch, my private study. I know my reasonings to not let anyone enter my house were only overly careful precautions until I met her. Precautions I never needed before her, for cases like this I never thought I would encounter. I never thought someone would matter, matter in my sense of the word anyway.

I am aware again why I never took some women to my house, why I keep everyone away and should have done so with her as well, maybe even more so because it is her. I sigh because she makes a difference and although I made this discovery a lot in the last two days, it is still heavy and hot and mind-filling. She makes a difference not only as my secretary, letting me work more efficiently but as a human, her impact on everything huger than from anyone before. I really should leave, I tell myself. But I don't because my mind already decided that I won't be a coward and face this situation and everything that will come out of this, not because I want to but because she at least deserves this and I think there is no turning back now.

And even though I am proud of this notion inside of me, I feel uncomfortable and on edge when I think about our phone call, about my sudden decision to give her the talk she wants and what my words maybe implied. I feel dirty for maybe getting her hopes up and it overshadows my once set mind. I know she is important, I know she possesses a part of me and I know that this part will be probably lost forever when everything is said and done. And I know that I don't want to let her go, keep her around for the things I am ready to give to her even though it isn't enough – for anyone and least of all for her – and maybe she decides she wants it all. It would be her right to demand so.

And I will never be a father or a husband or a good boyfriend – I never planned to be. It makes me feel like a poor excuse of a man but everything I can give her I already did. I gave her my trust, I gave her attention, I gave her small signs and hints about myself. But to be involved in more than just this physcial aspect of a relationship between two people would be too much for me. Because I am not that person. Because I am not that man and I am aware what this says about my character, about my emotional capacity that is ridiculous compared to hers.

I suppress a snort at my own thoughts, underlined by the memory of her welcoming me home – the gesture alone a bold sign for the things I already know about my secretary and myself. Her tone invades my mind and leaves me with a strange mixture of fear, anger and warmness. This warm feeling – I don't call it affection because I don't love her, am not in love with her, at least not in the way I think she is with me, not in the way people fall in love with each other, feel for each other. Because they do stupid things when they love someone and I don't; even though a part of me decides that getting involved with my secretary to begin with is debatable to be a really idiotic move. I am not sure if pointing out my emotional difference from other people is a general obersavtion about myself, about my inner workings, that I can't feel like all of the other people around me feel or if I want to cushion myself for the things she evokes within me that I can't show her.

And I know that she does. Lust, naturally, the will to control and possess, to be the one she yearns for, to be the only man in her life. Especially the last part makes me gritt my teeth. Selfish is what it is but I never denied that I am a selfish man and only now started to regret that quality about myself. I have no right to demand anything. Not from her. She shouldn't stay single for a man that isn't able to overcome his own restraints. I have no right to demand from her to never look at anyone else even though the mere thought makes hot rage pulse through my veins. I think most people would call it romantical. I know she wouldn't because she is a respectable female, a woman though in love still strong to stand up for what she wants and probably won't take my bullshit.

I am at a loss what to do about all of these confusing things, about my own needs, her needs, my wild beating heart in jealousy, my clenching hands when I think of letting her go and all of this contradicting my knowledge that I am not in love with her but want to change for her.

Slowly I discover that no matter how long I think about, I won't come to the same decision again. I of course can still see her as my equal, maybe even the woman that could give me a purpose, make me a better man, but what is there for me to give? I entertain the thought that I can try, that I can try to see it like only a few hours ago, that she gives me new goals, that she shows me my limits and that I want to overcome them. I try to imagine what it would be like, fighting mostly myself and definitely with her, fighting my concepts and morals and my plans that never included getting involved romantically with anyone.

The thought lets a shiver run down my spine and I think I am lucky that she still sleeps, doesn't see where my mind and musings take me, because right now I am a hundred percent sure I can't give her what she wants. It would go against everything I believe myself to be and even though the realisation is painful I don't think I can be that man, ever because I am already more than I thought I could be and wishing for more still for her and me is too mucht to ask. I am not the hero, can't be not even for her.

I take her in again and her sight next to me calms me down enough that my thoughts slowly but continiously dwindle from my mind, leaving me with one thing I am sure about and for the moment, for this morning, it is enough. Because all I know is that her warm body pressed against mine and the sight of her naked glory in front of me is right. I don't combine this thought with feelings and just take it in. Its a fact in my mind, steady and strong and maybe I should give myself a break and let things go their normal way freely – a foreign concept to me because I am always the one in control. I sigh and tell myself to savour the next hours because some part of me knows that they will be our last.

My eyes wander over her collarbone, taking in the details of her ravens and I smile slightly because I haven't expected someone as pure as her has something as excentric as a tattoo. Gliding along her throat my eyes stay fixed on her parted lips and I suppress the urge to run my fingers over the pink plum bottom one to let her bite maybe my thumb again. I take in her straight nose, her eyelids and the grey-blue I know they cover. A crease is between her brows and I try to imagine what she dreams that would make her face change the way it does.

I pull back my arm leisurely, my fingertips brushing against her warm and soft skin, stopping shortly at a scar I didn't know was there. Carefully I push down the covers, and she stirrs lightly, a soft sound leaving her lips, but she doesn't wake up. Slowly scooting down I bring my face to the level of the scar, just a bit over her hip, barely visible. My pointerfinger glides over it again, the texture of it not too different from the rest of her pale skin. Maybe thats the reason why I find it just now even though my hands wandered her body so much in the last two and a half days. I ask myself where she got it, that small imperfection that in my mind makes her even more beautiful and real.

I want to taste it and lean forward, careful to only brush my lips for a few seconds about it, let my tongue glide over the slightly heighened spot on her otherwise flat stomach. She sighs in her sleep above me, one of her arms moving down her torso to the place I just carressed and I don't resist my urge to nib her fingertips slightly when they are close enough. I lean back then, take her in, memorize everything I can, the glow of her skin, the unearthy appearance of her darkblond hair against the green around us. My siren.

I push myself to my knees and forearms, next to her, careful not to bump into her and I can't stop my hand from brushing slowly down between her thighs, touch featherlike to not wake her up just yet. Tris stirs again a bit, moves her legs and her scent reaches my nose. Its intoxicating and hypnotizing to be this close to her and her sex. Who would have thought that I could find so much pleasure in her, that out there a woman exists that shatters my balance, that is everything and make me realize I am nothing, not enough. I frown slightly and close my eyes. No thoughts, I tell myself, no regrets. Not today.

Coming to a decision to savour these last hours, I give in to the urge to touch her, push myself up, push her legs apart a bit wider and settle down between them, one arm over her pale, slim thigh, the other under her bent leg. The covers rustle lightly with my movements but aren't loud enough to disturb her sleep. My hand glides along her skin gently from her navel to her scar, to her hipbones. Because I am so close to her I can see the short, small hairs stand up on her skin on her thighs at my ministrations. I lean forward then, my eyes fixed on Tris as my tongue connects with her soft folds warm and welcoming. I have to calm myself down, to not rush things, to enjoy the serene actions and give them the meaning they are supposed to have. My lips move against her soft skin, enjoying the texture of her folds under them, the heat that emanates from her most private area and her scent. My tongue pushes forward between her folds and I have to suppress the groan at her taste. Its heady and lets the flame that burns for her body – and mind – consume the part of me that already belongs to her.

Sucking softly at her flesh, I feel her move above me, smirking a bit at her possible reaction at being woken up like this. I entertain the thought that our mornings together could always be like this if it just would be enough for her, if the physical part would be enough commitment. Her gaze from yesterday, her quivering lip and reaction when I left her on my porch tell me differently though, but the wish stays. I should probably wish for something else, for me being able to feel for her the way she deserves but I don't because I am afraid to lose my comfortable position in life.

Before I can lose myself in the disgust I feel at myself, for these notions, I feel her toes curl against my waist and upper ribcage when my tongue slowly glides down to her entrance, licking it leisurely and I keep my full attention on her. On this woman that is my high and my downfall. A breathy moan reaches my ears and I look up, see her hand that now lays on her stomach clench lightly, her nails scratching her own skin. My right hand slowly comes up and I adjust my position between her legs to brush my fingertips against her knuckles, the initiated touch loaded with more than lust or a sexual act, but I am not honest enough anymore to fully acknowledge it.

My left hand lays down on her hip, stroking the skin just above her hipbone electing a throaty laugh from her that makes me grin against her sex. I insert my tongue into her again and a moan leaves her throat, her hand clasping mine, lets me feel the pleasure I give her. When my mouth moves up, slowly, the tip of my tongue pressing against her soft flesh she aches her back and in the sunbeams from her windows her skin glows ivory. I wish I could take a picture to capture this moment of her perfection, could keep it with me for my own pleasure when I am alone again. I hope the image is ingrained in my brain like so many others of her. I find the bundle of nerves in her heat and wetness, my teeth nibbling at it making her curl her toes again. Moving one of my hands away from her body, I let it glide down to my position between her legs, pushing her folds apart and dip my thumb into her before I let it slide further down, to her anus, massaging it when my tongue leaves her clit and licks at her entrance, making her shudder.

"Eric...", she moans above me and it is such a fascinating sound, a mixture of sleep induced heavyness, lust, a bit raspy but sweet that it takes my breath away for a second, my eyes half lidded, nearly rolling back in my head at her taste, scent and sounds. I slowly take back my hands on her, push myself up on my arms, my head lowered to still be connected to her body, tongue licking along her sex. I watch her bite her lip, her eyes meeting mine afterwards, the blue more pronounced, iris dilated. I don't think she knows that she can make me cum just looking at me this way.

I push back on my knees, my hands at her hips. She moves her legs beside mine in an obvious wish to get a friction for the need she feels, the signs there for everyone to see and all because of me. I don't let her sex brush against my erected length though, keep her down against the mattress. It makes her groan, squinting her eyes at my refusual. I love that she makes me feel proud and smug and manly with her small gestures and I don't feel ashamed to feel powerful.

She continues to squirm and my eyes are fixed on her body, the shaky breaths she takes letting her mouth open slightly, her tongue darting out to wet her rosy lips. I brush her folds just once with two fingers, from her clit to her entrance, giving her only a bit of penetration and a needy sound leaves her throat to be replaced by a grumble when my hand leaves her again. I enjoy teasing her far too much and it seems she has enough of it, begins to give herself some release. Her fingertips brush against her erected nipple, once, twice before she squeezes it with her thumb and pointer finger, her hips moving as much as I let them room to do so. My eyes are fixed on her, the way she pleasures herself, movements changing from soft to hard, from squeezing to stroking.

When her other hand slowly wanders down, I push it away though because she should know that this is my territory, my part when she isn't alone. I growl slightly and her cheeks color a bit. My right hand wanders from her hip to her folds, pointerfinger drawing circles on the smooth skin, dipping only a bit between her folds, brushing against her hot bundle of nerves. She aches her back again, her breasts shivering with her intake of breath and I don't suppress the smirk and the high she makes me feel.

I let my fingers glide through her slick folds and she hums in satisfaction, eyes opening again and meeting mine. They are clouded with need and ... love. And there is the guilt again within me, hot and sharp, but I push it away because I want to savour this moment and not think about anything but her enjoying my touch.

My hand leaves her sex, joins the other at her hip. Leaning forward a few centimeters a time, I brush them up her stomach, to her breasts, teasing her erect nipples, before I let them glide over her shoulders and rest beside her head. I push my hips down against her, my upper body hovering over hers, let her feel my own need that intensifies when she lets her nails run down my back. I growl into her ear, bite her earlobe and push myself back on my knees, hands running down to her hips again. Tris moves against my hold and when our eyes connect I see the need I feel myself and it is enough to let me stop the foreplay because I can't keep myself away anymore, have to be inside of her.

I turn her around gently until she lays on her stomach. She already knows what I want, pushes her hips up in the air, presents herself to me and I can't suppress the groan at her display of eagerness. I pull her back to me, my hands hooked in the crook of her bent hips. My cock presses against her most private area and I see a shudder running along her spine. Her breasts are pressed into her soft mattress, head turned to the right side and she moves her hips lightly to brush against my hardened length, ready, willing.

My hands glide down her sides, over her thin waist, to her ribcage, my upper body aligning with hers. I not only savour her back against my chest, I know deep down, but that she is petite and I could be her protector, the thought full of masculine, overbearing smugness but feels right and perfect when it comes to her.

Her exposed skin is a bit colder now and the sensation of it pressing against my chest makes us both shudder. I slowly push myself back again, sitting back on my heels and let my hands glide along her ass, thumbs separating gently her cheeks, brushing her anus. When I am near her folds, she moans slightly again and I smile at the slightly desperate tone in it. My right hand goes further down, takes my member and brushes it against her wetness, feeling her and when the head of it pushes at her clit, she jerks a bit forward before pressing back.

I grit my teeth to control myself, to let the lazy atmosphere and warmth of her loft seep into me and make this experience more then it was the last few times. I feel wounded myself, sore and annoyand at my contemplation, at the drama I find myself in and the knowledge that I am the only one to blame for it. Her circling hips stop further thoughts though, let me groan and I keep her still, my hands at her hips telling her that I am the one in control of both our needs, at least physically my self-irony adds. I want to take her rough, but soft at the same time, the notion new to me and a sign that I want to enter her not out of a desperate need to get the urge off but to be together with her. Its frightening.

My hands wander over her hips when she seems to understand what I want, fingertips lightly teasing and tickling her, her skin hot and sensitive against the pads of my hands. She sighs when I have positioned my hands on her hips again, thumbs pressing into her flesh. Slowly, I start to move my own hips, penetrate her only a few millimeters a time and my eyes roll back in my head at the sensation, my hands tighter around her small body. When her ass and back thighs are aligned with front I lean forward, hands slowly gliding to her front, my arms closing around her and I marvel at the feeling of her small body pressed against mine. I can reach her face with my mouth now, kiss her jaw and cheeks and she turns a bit to meet hers with mine. The kiss is hot but sensual, soft tissue connected with each other featherlight.

I jerk my hips a bit forward, letting her feel how much I want her and feel her gasp, her hands tightening on the green sheets. I pull back to resume my position above her, her pleasure and want in clear sight, her behind ached upwards. I start slowly moving in and out of her, my eyes flickering back and forth between her face contorted in pleasure and my cock vanishing in her welcoming, tight wetness.

She meets my trusts, but this time our rhythm is slightly off and I am aware that she wants more, maybe wants me to penetrate her deeper, harder, with more urge but I am not ready for it, want to tease her a bit more because her quivering form, her desperate moans are the most perfect thing I have ever seen and the control she shows me I have about her lets my ego purr in contentment and lets me forget that I am nothing more than a stupid male too stubborn, afraid and too much of an idiot to at least try.

I feel her walls clench around me at my next trust and I know it isn't in release but to tease me, to cheer me on to take more of her, to take her faster and I feel my previously strong resolve dwindle, my trusts harder already before I realize it, lost in the feeling of her around me and fascinated that she manipulates me to forget about myself. And not only physcially my mind adds with a snort and I know it is right.

I let my right hand wander up her spine, nails lightly scratching her skin and intertwine my fingers with her long tresses, pulling at them and she follows my movements automatically, her hands pushing her up. I cease my movement for a moment, helping her to align her back with my chest, keeping her against me. I know I give her control of our pleasure again, but I am too transfixed by the way my arm looks around her, her breasts moving when she moves. I let my hand wander up to her breasts, twirling her nipple and letting her groan. The new angle gives me the possibility to pleasure her more and I let my hand that is on her hip still wander around, to her spread legs on either side of mine.

I pull her hair again and her head moves to the side, exposing her neck and I bite down on it gently, scratch her hot skin, the fast pulse under my lip with my teeth, elevating the sting with licking the slightly red tissue. My finger finds her clit and I feel her jerk against me, muscles around me clenching slightly and her losing her balance against me.

Before she can fall, I let her hair and clit go, lower her down onto her bed, straighten my legs between hers, when her body lays flat on the mattress. She breaths hard, just like I do and I feel my release is fastly approaching when I penetrate her again and against, Tris' body moving under mine with each thrust, her hands clenching on her green sheets. I gritt my teeth when I feel her go rigid with her impending orgasm but it doesn't stop me to cum along with her, both of us groaning our release with the name of the other on our lips.

My own orgasm let my arms shiver in tension and I let myself down slowly, nibbing her jaw and ear lazily and softly before I pull away and lay down on my stomach next o her. Her eyes are closed, her breath fast, her skin glowing. I don't suppress my wish to kiss her and do so sensually, tasting her, savouring the way our lips fit together.

Her hand goes to my neck while we still come down from our high, draws circles on my skin and I close my own eyes at the ministration, the calmness and relaxation she gives me with a simple touch. I open my eyes again when I feel my secretary's lips on my cheek, a warm smile greeting my heavy gaze, guilt and anger raising within me, destroying my fantasy that this is my life and not just an episode in a drama I created myself.

"Breakfast?" Tris asks, voice soft, loving and I nod detached.

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_Thanks for reading - review please. This isn't beta-ed. Like..not at all. And I am tired. So bear with me, please._


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